


In Need of You

by iamjohnlocked18



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Addiction, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Mystery, Romance, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-04 07:39:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1771057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamjohnlocked18/pseuds/iamjohnlocked18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is set after the events of Series 3. John hasn't seen Sherlock since Moriarty's return and worries that his best friend no longer needs him. What will happen when John's true feelings (and Sherlock's) are finally revealed? And when Moriarty decides it's time for another "game"? I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of these characters, only the story is mine. Original fic posted on fanfiction.net. Updates every Thursday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Absence

**Author's Note:**

> This is not beta'd or brit-picked so all mistakes are my own. Please comment if you enjoy it! :)

John missed Sherlock.

It was simple as that he told himself. He hadn't seen Sherlock in weeks, ever since he had gotten on a plane on his way to exile for saving John. No, not just John. Mary and the little one as well. He had saved John's family. A family he wasn't even sure he wanted anymore.

"John?"

Mary's voice jolted John back into reality. He looked up at her across the dinner table.

"Yes?"

"Do you like the shepherd's pie? You've barely touched it."

John looked down at his plate. Sure enough there was almost a full slice remaining. He forced a smile and took a bite.

"No, it's great dear." He mumbled through the food.

Mary herself forced a smile.

"Good."

And they went back to eating in silence. It had been like this ever since John had moved back in. After he had forgive her for the lies, the pain she had caused him. For shooting his best friend. He half expected, half hoped for things to just return to normal, like none of it had ever happened. But it didn't. It seemed like all that was left of their relationship was silence and awkward conversation.

"Are you finished?"

Mary was now standing before him, her own plate in hand and her belly protruded from her shirt. John looked down seeing his plate was still half full, but he handed it to her anyway.

"Thanks."

She nodded and waddled into the kitchen. John sighed, setting his napkin down on the table. But that was his wife and his child. And despite everything, he did love them. But it wasn't like Sherlock. As hard as it was for him to admit, he needed Sherlock. When he was with him, everything made sense. There were no questions or silence...well there was, but not like this. Not about their relationship. John never questioned that. Despite Sherlock's cold exterior, he knew Sherlock cared for him.

But then why hadn't he called? Mycroft had contacted him right away to inform him that Sherlock was in fact not being sent away and that Moriarty was back from the dead. This news pleased and frightened John greatly. On the one hand, Moriarty was back in full form, surely set on revenge against Sherlock and himself. But that also meant that Sherlock was not leaving and remaining in London to once again solve any puzzles Moriarty threw their way. And despite John fearing Moriarty's wrath, the thought of never seeing Sherlock again had made him sick and he was glad he didn't have to go through that...again.

He had expected Sherlock to contact him right away, but more than a whole month had past without any word. John was starting to worry. He had even texted Sherlock a week ago to no avail. Not that his lack of response had surprised him. Sherlock only answered or sent texts if it was extremely important or to his benefit and amusement. Like embarrassing Scotland Yard or asking John to bring home crushed beetles or milk.

John let out a short chuckle and another sigh. He actually missed it. Sherlock's nagging and his asinine requests. Honestly he missed everything. Watching him work a crime scene, the way his eyes flickered when he had an idea, and even that ridiculous thing he did with his coat collar...

John stood up from the table and grabbed his coat from the living room chair. He needed to see Sherlock. Needed to make sure he was okay. Needed to talk to him. So many things were left unsaid in their goodbyes, both the first time and the last. He wasn't sure exactly what those things were, but it didn't matter. He needed to see him.

"Where are you going?"

John was halfway out the door when he heard Mary's voice and turned to see her standing in the living room, a wet dish still in her hand.

"Just out to the pub. Thought I would have a quick pint."

Mary surveilled him quickly and then let out a curt nod and returned to the kitchen.

Of course John knew Mary knew he was lying, but he couldn't bring himself to care at this point. He hurried out the door onto the busy street and hailed the first cab he saw, opening the door before it had even fully stopped.

"Oie! Someone's in a hurry." The cabbie said as John slid in the backseat. "Where to?"

John could feel his heart begin to pound, excitement and anxiety running through his body.

"221 B Baker Street."


	2. Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any comment or kudos are greatly appreciated! It keeps me going. :)

The moment the cab pulled up, John handed the driver cash and stepped out, rushing to the door. He automatically reached inside his coat pocket for the key before realizing that he no longer had one.

He paused at this reality and wondered why he hadn't kept it. Then he remembered that Sherlock had asked for it back when he was still "dating" Janine. John felt a pang of jealousy. Sherlock had so easily given her full access to his life without a second thought. John knew it had been all a front for the case, but he couldn't help but feel that being allowed into Sherlock's world was a gift (and a curse) that was earned as he, John, had earned it. And Sherlock had just given it away.

John stepped away from the door starting to wonder why he had come. Sherlock had certainly moved on and didn't need John anymore. Was he just trying to restart a friendship, a relationship, that was already dead? No. John wiped those doubts from his mind. Sherlock and he were still friends, best friends. He didn't need to start questioning this relationship as well, especially when every other one in his life was falling apart.

John took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Mrs. Hudson answered the door, her face long, but upon seeing John, she lit up.

"Oh John!"

She reached out and gave him a tight hug. He smiled back at her.

"It's good to see you, Mrs. Hudson."

"You too."

She ushered him inside and begin leading John up the stairs.

"I've been hoping you would show up soon." She said. "I was starting to worry you hadn't gotten my messages."

John looked up her, confused.

"What messages?"

Mrs. Hudson stopped and stared at him.

"The messages I left about Sherlock. With Mary. Isn't that why you're here?"

John felt his stomach clench in anger. Mary had been keeping messages from him, about Sherlock of all people. But that angry was replaced quickly with fear when he realized that Mrs. Hudson wouldn't have called him unless something was wrong.

"No I didn't get them. I just came for a visit. Why? Is Sherlock okay?"

Mrs. Hudson sighed and resumed climbing the stairs, John close behind.

"He hasn't been doing well, dear. I don't think he's left the flat since he got back. He's even worse then-"

She paused and glanced at John. He quickly realized she meant when he had moved out. When he had left Sherlock. And that also meant...

"You think he's...using?"

Mrs. Hudson nodded solemnly.

"I am almost sure. He is a complete mess. Of course he would never admit it..."

They stopped at the Sherlock's door. Mrs. Hudson turned to John. She looked desperate.

"I don't know what to do anymore. He won't eat, won't sleep. Even the morning tea I bring him is left untouched whenever I come back to get it."

She stopped and rubbed John's arm, forcing a smile.

"I'm sure you can help him. He'll listen to you."

And with that, she begin walking down the stairs toward her flat. John let out a soft sigh. He hoped Mrs. Hudson was wrong and Sherlock was just little depressed or busy with a case. Sherlock wasn't himself when he was high. Everything that John loved about him- his mind, his wit, his curiosity- disappeared and all that was left was a shell of a man with only his anger and bitterness to comfort him. It wouldn't be a pleasant visit if Sherlock was in that state.

With hesitation, John opened the door slowly and surveyed the scene in front of him. Clothes, dirty dishes and various chemistry equipment were strewn everywhere. Sherlock was always messy, but there was usually some order to the chaos. There was none here. The only part of room that seemed even slightly organized was the wall above the couch. It seemed Sherlock had created a board dedicated to Moriarty, mapping out his various associates, places he might hideout, what his next move could be. However, it didn't look like it had be touched in weeks, a layer of dust forming on some of the pictures and maps.

And below it lay Sherlock, clothed only in his robe and a dirty white undershirt, his eyes closed. He certainly didn't look good. His skin was even paler then usual and there were dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he had lost weight, if that was possible for his already thin frame. John approached him slowly, not wanting to wake him. Then all of the sudden, Sherlock's voice rang out from the still body.

"Not so loud John."

John jumped at the sound and if he hadn't been making noise before he did now, hitting his leg on the coffee table and knocking over the full ashtray laying there. He cursed, rubbing his knee and leaning to pick up the fallen cigarettes. Sherlock opened his eyes and began rubbing his temple as he slowly set up on the couch.

"I said not so loud John! Can your tiny brain not comprehend what that means?"

John placed the tray back on the table and stood up. He looked Sherlock up and down. A rush of relief swept through his body. Sherlock was not high. If anything, he was coming down, which meant though he would be extremely grumpy, at least he would be himself.

"Of course I heard you, you twat. You scared the hell out of me! I thought you were sleeping."

Sherlock swiftly rose from the couch and walked over toward his violin, which was laying on the floor.

"You know me better than that John. I don't waste my time with sleep."

He begin play a slow and beautiful tune. John put his hands in his pockets and walked up to Sherlock. He wasn't getting off so easy.

"Yet you have time to get high?"

Sherlock paused, his eyes flicking toward John before resuming the melody. John walked up closer to him and he turned away.

"Sherlock, what is going on? I haven't heard from you since you got back. I half expected you to be dead when I walked in! Didn't you get any of my texts?"

Sherlock finished with a flourish and turned back to John.

"Of course I got them. But I figured you would be busy with Mary and baby. She's due in a week right?"

John nodded looking down and let out a sigh.

"Yeah I think. I haven't really been keeping track of it."

He looked back up at Sherlock to see that expression he knew so well. He was deducing him.

"You don't...seem..." Sherlock started slowly, frowning.

"Happy?" John laughed. "Yeah I realize that."

He turned away and walked toward the kitchen and begin searching for a clean pot and tea bags.

Sherlock set down his violin and he approached John slowly.

"Why? I thought you and Mary worked everything out."

John snorted as he continued to search.

"It's not that simple Sherlock. Yes, I forgave her and we tried to move on. But that doesn't mean I'm not still hurt and that everything simply went back to normal. That's not how relationships work."

"It did with us."

John looked up in shock to see Sherlock standing right beside. He straighten up.

"What do you mean?"

Sherlock studied John's face as he spoke.

"Well after I came back, it took you a little while, but once you forgave me everything did go back to normal. You didn't still seem hurt or angry."

"That's because I wasn't." John answered quickly. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have.

Sherlock moved closer to John, still studying him.

"But why? What's different?"

John walked out of kitchen without answering, and began picking up trash from the floor. He was beginning to feel anxious and confused. What was different? His stomach sunk. He knew the answer, but he refused to admit it, even it to himself.

"Is it because our relationship isn't romantic?" Sherlock said, from behind him.

John spun around.

"No! It has nothing to do with that. It's just...different..."

"But how? What makes it hard for you to forgive her and easy for you to forgive me?"

"I don't know!"

John was practically shouting now, but Sherlock didn't seem bothered, just more curious.

"You're lying, John. You know the answer. Why won't you tell me?"

John threw his hands up in the air.

"What does it matter?"

"Just tell me the truth John."

Sherlock was getting even closer now, their bodies almost touching. His eyes practically burrowing into John's.

"Why?" John asked desperately. "Why do you even care?"

"Just tell me John!"

"Because I'm in love with you, damn it!"

The words left John's lips before he could stop them. He looked up at Sherlock. He looked truly surprised. Yet he didn't step away.

"You're...in love with me?"

John let out sharp laugh. I guess it was out now.

"Yes! Of course! I've been in love with you from the moment I met you Sherlock! With all your deductive skills, how could you not see that?"

Sherlock furrowed his brow.

"You know I'm not good with emotion."

John laughed again.

"Yeah right the sociopath, how could I forget! Well are you happy now? You know everything about me!"

Sherlock didn't answer. Instead...

"Does this mean you don't love Mary?"

It was John's turn to be surprised. Why would Sherlock care? He hesitated, his voice softer this time.

"I do love her I guess. It's just not the same. Never really has been. I guess my feelings for her aren't as-"

"Strong." Sherlock finished. John looked up at him. The confusion had left his face and was replaced with understanding and was that...happiness? John suddenly realized how close they were. His heart began to thump.

"Yeah I guess..."

"But why didn't you ever tell me?"

John felt his body begin to tingle. Was it possible that Sherlock was actually getting closer?

"Um I guess I didn't really want to admit it to myself. And I knew you wouldn't feel the same way."

"What made you think that?"

John met Sherlock's eyes again. They were practically intoxicating.

"I...I...didn't..."

John had trouble forming words. He swallowed.

"Aren't you a sociopath? How could you feel that way?"

Sherlock smirked. He slowly raised his hand to John's temple and ran it through John's hair. He could feel John tremble.

"High functioning remember?"

And before John knew it Sherlock's lips were on his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know! Sorry to end it there, but honestly it had to end at some point. But I promise a little smut in the next one! ;)


	3. Desire

As Sherlock lips pressed against John's, his immediate reaction was to pull away in shock. But he didn't. Sherlock's lips were warm and inviting. He felt himself beginning to kiss back. John's mind was swimming with accusations, but one thought kept surfacing above all the others.

"You need this. You need him."

And so John gave in, enjoying the taste of Sherlock on his lips, as he began grasping at Sherlock's hair to pull him closer. Sherlock gave in willingly, opening his mouth and attacking John's tongue with his own.

John moaned into his mouth, not able to hold the release of pleasure back any longer. God, it felt so good. So completely right.

Sherlock felt John's moan vibrate in his mouth and growled softly in return. With no further hesitation, he ran his hands under John's jumper, feeling the soft skin underneath and yanked upwards. John complied, raising his arms. At this point,  
he didn't think he could stop himself even if he tried. He was utterly under Sherlock's spell.

Sherlock tossed the jumper aside and begin attacking John's mouth again, this time running his hands greedily over every inch of John's bare skin. John relished every touch from Sherlock's fingers, every rub against his cheek or his chest. His body began to shiver and buck against Sherlock's and he realized he was unbelievably hard.

Sherlock seemed to notice too and lowered his hand, rubbing him softly through his jeans.

"Oh God...Sherlock."

John almost screamed at the touch, but forced his words to come out in a loud whisper. But Sherlock still heard it. He pulled back from the kiss and looked at John, his eyes full of lust. Without a word, he pushed John onto the couch with such force that John nearly hit his head on wall. He had never seen Sherlock like this. Yes, Sherlock was always in control, always dominant, but there was something on his face John had never seen: true desire. Sherlock wanted John. Maybe even needed him. And that made John's need grow even stronger.

He pulled Sherlock down on top of him and begin kissing him fiercely. He ran his hands through Sherlock's curls and it was Sherlock's turn to moan into John's mouth. He felt Sherlock hard against his stomach, but before he could reach down, Sherlock had broken the kiss and was sliding onto his knees in front of him.

Sherlock was quick with John's zipper and reached inside and begin stroking John every so lightly. This time John did hit his head on the wall, as it flung back and he bucked into Sherlock's adept fingers. But he didn't care. The touch of Sherlock's bare hand on his cock sent sparks through his whole body. He thought he might come then and there, but he held off, closing his eyes to better savor every touch.

He felt Sherlock spring his membrane fully from his pants and suddenly Sherlock's tongue was licking slowly up his shaft. He moaned, louder then before, as Sherlock continued to tease him. Just as John was about to beg Sherlock for more, he felt Sherlock's mouth envelope him fully. His body begin to shake and twitch uncontrollably. He felt that familiar warmth begin grow in his stomach as Sherlock's mouth moved up and down with increasing speed. His skin felt like it was on fire.

"Sherlock! Sherlock I am going to- I'm going to-"

And before he could finish his sentence, he came deep into Sherlock's mouth with shout of the man's name. He felt his body contract and the glorious orgasm spread through every fiber of his being. As John came down from the high, he looked up to smile at Sherlock, to tell him how amazing that was, but he was no longer kneeling in front of him. Instead he was standing by the window, hugging his robe tight around him.

John zipped up his pants and pulled his jumper back on. He stood up from the couch, walking slowly toward Sherlock. Had he done something wrong?

"Sherlock?"

There was no response. John ventured closer.

"Sherlock? What is it?"

He begin to reach out for Sherlock's shoulder to comfort him, to calm any questions or doubts, but then-

"Get out."

John's lowered his hand to his side. He couldn't believe what he had just heard.

"What?"

"I said get out."

Sherlock's voice was cold and stern. He still hadn't turned around to face John.

"Why Sherlock? What's a matter?"

The voice was slightly raised this time.

"You got what you wanted John. Now leave."

John felt his skin begin to rise in anger. What he wanted? Sherlock had started all this. Why was he blaming him? Why was he blaming anyone at all?

"What are you talking about? I didn't plan on any of this, Sherlock. It just-"

Sherlock let out a cruel laugh.

"Happened? Really John are you that idiotic?"

He finally turned to face John, his face filled with bitterness.

"Is that not what you wanted to happen?"

John stumbled, trying to calm the anger beginning to boil inside of him.

"I- I certainly didn't-"

Sherlock interrupted, stepping closer to John.

"Did you not come here today to 'talk' to me about our relationship?"

John clenched. How could have known that? He had wanted to tell Sherlock how much he cared for him, but he certainly hadn't expected any of this. He swallowed.

"Yes I did but-"

Sherlock interrupted John again, stepping closer to him now, his eyes lit with anger.

"So we talked, you admitted your feelings and you got what you 'needed', right? A fix? That way you can go skipping back to Mary and your shell of a marriage at least knowing that you had one moment of pleasure and joy in your otherwise miserable life? Isn't that right?"

Sherlock's words hit John like a ton of bricks. John bawled his fists and his words were shaking with anger and pain when he spoke.

"You have no right, you son-"

"Oh no right John? I think I do considering what just happened. I did just suck you off, remember?"

John almost raised his fist to hit him, but he kept it pressed to his side. What was happening? Why was he doing this? The man he loved, his best friend, who just minutes before had admitted his own desire for John, was now standing in front of him, hurling insults at him. John knew everything couldn't change that quickly. He studied Sherlock's face. There was anger, but also something else...was it...fear?

John felt his hands unclench and his body soften. He reached up for Sherlock's face and touched his cheek every so slightly.

"Sherlock, it's-"

But Sherlock whipped around to face the window once again and John's hand fell limp at his side.

"I think we're done here. Now please get out, John."

John let out a shaky laugh. He felt weak and tired. All the joy, the euphoria of kissing Sherlock, seeing the lust in his eyes, seemed like a distant memory. Only a cruel ache remained.

"With pleasure, Sherlock. With pleasure."

And with that, he grabbed his coat and left the flat, slamming the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, but it is listed as angst for a reason. However, I promise it will get better for the consulting detective and his blogger. Any comments/kudos are much appreciated. :)


	4. Torn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay folks. It shouldn't happen again. Enjoy :)

Sherlock heard the door slam behind him. He took a deep ragged breath, running his fingers through his hair, trying to quail the battle that was raging inside of him.

"Why did you do that? You ruined everything!"

"There wasn't anything to ruin. It was better to stop it before it started."

"But you did start it, the moment you kissed him and admitted your feelings. And now you threw it all away! He won't be coming back this time."

"John will be fine. He has Mary and the baby."

"But he wants you! He said so himself. And you just let that go."

"I couldn't risk it."

"Risk what? Happiness?"

"No, hurting him. Ruining his life. He is better off without me."

"Excuses, excuses. But really you're just scared. Scared of how you feel. Scared of allowing yourself to be happy."

"Stop it."

"You think it will make you weak, but really you're already weak. You've proved that time and time again. Every time you shut him out. Every time you suppressed your feelings, instead of dealing with them. Every time you stick that needle in your arm."

"Stop it!"

This time the words left Sherlock's mouth and he realized he was curled up in a ball on the floor. He could feel himself shaking. He let out a dry sob before standing up and walking over to the fireplace.

He was weak.

Sherlock bent down and removed his kit from underneath a old log, where he had hid it the moment he had heard John coming up the stairs.

Sherlock set on the floor, leaning against John's (old) chair. He opened the case with shaking hands. He still had a full syringe laid out. He flexed his hands, trying to steady them. He set the syringe to the side and begin to tie a tourniquet around his left arm.

"Is this what John would want?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does. You don't have to be weak. You don't have to be scared. You don't need this."

Sherlock reached for syringe, his arm prepped.

"Yes I do."

"No. You just need him."

Sherlock paused, the needle hovering above the throbbing vein.

"But he's not here."

And with that excuse to comfort him, he inserted the needle into his arm. He took a deep breath and was just about to press down on the syringe to release the wonderful poison, when he heard his phone ring from across the room. At first he ignored it, but then horrid visions flooded his mind. Of John kidnapped. Of John beaten and blooded. Of John dead.

Sherlock removed the needle from his arm with a wince and rushed over to his phone laying on the coffee table. He saw his brother's name flashing across the screen. He snorted, content to ignore his brother's whining. But then...if John was hurt, who would call...? Mycroft did see everything.

He reached down for the phone and pressed it against his ear.

"This better be important, Mycroft. I am very busy."

"I'm sure you are dear brother." He answered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But this is of the utmost importance."

Sherlock's heart skipped a beat.

"Is John alright?"

"Of course, though I think you might want to contact him since this does involve him."

"What does?"

"It's Moriarty, Sherlock. As you would say brother, the game has begun."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are enjoying, comments/kudos are much appreciated! R&R


	5. Complicated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay...again, but life has been crazy! Well, hopefully you guys enjoy.

After storming out of the flat, John walked around the city, lost in his thoughts. He kept hoping what had just happened with Sherlock was a cruel joke or a nightmare he would soon wake from. But he knew better.

Not that it had been all bad. Before Sherlock's cruel outburst, every kiss, every touch, had been incredible, even better than he could have imagined. It had been passionate and intense, but also somehow loving and romantic. At least that's how he had viewed it. Obviously Sherlock had seen the events in a very different light.

Yet despite Sherlock's hurtful words and accusations, John couldn't help but picture Sherlock's plush lips kissing his, his fingers running down John's body, his mouth engulfing John completely...

God, that part had been especially incredible. John had never received oral sex like that before, even from the most talented of women he had been with. It was almost like Sherlock had done it before...which means he probably had.

The idea of Sherlock with another man made John's stomach clench with jealously. So he hadn't been the first. The first person Sherlock had kissed and caressed. The first person he had loved.

That was if Sherlock really did love him. He had never really said it. Yes, he admitted to having feelings for John as well, but he hadn't actually said those words like John had. And even if he did, then why say all those cruel things? Why push John away?

John sighed. He knew why. Sherlock was scared. John had seen that flicker of fear in his eyes during their fight. But what was there to be afraid of? Yes, Sherlock had always struggled with his feelings, barely understanding them and when he did, hiding from them. And yes their situation was...complicated with Mary and his future child in the picture. But Sherlock had to know John would give everything up, as cruel and heartless as it may be, to be with him. Right?

So maybe Sherlock had a reason to be scared about what taking the next step in their relationship might cause. But that still didn't excuse what he had done and didn't stop John from being angry at him, not only for the fight, but for the drug use, something John had noticed Sherlock had actively avoided talking about. Did Sherlock not realize that this was frightening and confusing for John to? But unlike Sherlock, John was willing to deal with those problems and take the risk in order to be with the man he loved.

But that was the difference between him and Sherlock. Despite risking his life on a daily basis, Sherlock always chose the safe option when it came to relationships. And John had been a safe, dependable option, at least until tonight.

John rubbed his eyes, realizing that it must be late judging by the dwindling number of people on the street. He noticed his wondering had left him only a few blocks from his house and he begin to walk back, trying to put all thoughts of Sherlock out of his mind. It wasn't his job to fix this or Sherlock for that matter. It was done. Maybe in the future, Sherlock would come around, but John wasn't going to force it or hold out hope. At least not too much hope.

When he arrived, he entered the bedroom as quietly as possible, slipping in the bed beside Mary's sleeping form. He heard her rustling beside him as he placed his phone on the bedside table.

"Where have you been?"

John laid down in the bed, facing away from her. Despite all the pain she had caused him, John couldn't help but feel guilty for what he had done to the wife he claimed he loved. It had been easy in the moment and even afterwards, but now laying next to her, he found it much harder to excuse his actions. No one deserved this, not even her. She deserved to know the truth about what had happened. About how he felt about Sherlock. But...now was just not the time.

"Just out at the pub. Lost track of time."

"Oh."

Her voice was soft and sad. John thought he was going to be sick from the wave of guilt that passed over him. Her next words were filled with forced happiness, as if she somehow knew how horrible he was feeling.

"Well goodnight John."

So much for dealing with his problems.

"Goodnight Mary."

That night, John dreamed of Sherlock, all the good and bad. His loving kisses, his violent words, his sweet caress, his cold gaze. And in the morning, as John awoke and reached for his phone, he saw his screen flash with Sherlock's name.

————————————————

As John arrived at the crime scene, he noticed only a few policemen were present and no press. That was odd. If this really is Moriarty, as Sherlock claimed in his text, he figured the media would have already caught wind of it. Actually, he didn't see a single car pass or even a person walking down the sidewalk. It's midday in central London. It's not like everyone decided to take their lunch breaks at work. Then John snorted, realizing the obvious. Mycroft. He is the British government, as Sherlock would say. Clearing out this neighborhood was probably child's play for someone with Mycroft's power and connections.

John ducked under the yellow tape and saw Sherlock already examining the body laying on the pavement. Lestrade was close by, watching Sherlock work. John walked up to him, glad to avoid Sherlock for as long as possible. Lestrade greeted him with a strained smile.

"I was wondering when you'd get here."

John sighed, placing his hands in his pockets.

"It took me a little while to explain to Mary why we continue to engage dangerous psychopaths."

Lestrade let out a curt laugh.

"That's understandable considering what you two have already been through. Quite an eventful first year of marriage you've had."

John forced a smile.

"Yeah quite eventful."

He paused to look at Sherlock, who was still examining the body. He didn't seem to notice John's presence or anyone else's for that matter. John could still see the black circles around his eyes, but he did look slightly better, like Mrs. Hudson had force fed him some breakfast. John turned back to Lestrade.

"How long has he been like this? Studying the body, I mean."

Lestrade shook his head.

"Every since we arrived about two hours ago. He actually contacted us last night, demanding we keep an eye out for possible murders in the area connected with Moriarty. And then this guy shows up."

He gestures towards the body.

"We finished our sweep about an hour ago, but he hasn't stopped."

John looked back at Sherlock. He was breathtaking beautiful in this state. The way he lightly grazed his hands across the body. The way he floated around the scene, his coat flipping up in the wind. Sherlock's eyes even seemed brighter, as if his focus and determination had set them on fire.

John approached body slowly, not wanting to disturb Sherlock. He looked over the body. It was a man in his late 40s, dressed in old button down shirt and a worn out pair of blue jeans. The only sign of trauma was a single bullet hole through the man's skull. His eyes were still opened in shock. As John studied the man, he couldn't shake the feeling he had seen him somewhere.

"So?"

He looked up to see Sherlock now staring at him. His face was expressionless, except for a small smirk he was trying to hid.

"What do you see, Dr. Watson?"

John shivered at Sherlock's use of his full title. For some unknown reason, it turned him on a little. He wondered if Sherlock could tell. John shook his head and let out a silent laugh. The prick had probably done it on purpose.

John straightened up, trying his best to look professional. He did one final sweep of the body before speaking.

"A man in late 40s. From the choice and state in his attire, he is obviously a blue collared worker. He has no wedding ring so he probably lives alone or with a platonic roommate. Most likely a life long bachelor. Now the bullet hole-"

He paused, pointing to the entry wound.

"It looks like this is the only sign of trauma so it is the clear cause of death. He was shot point blank at close range as you can see from the size of the entry wound. Most likely a 9 mm. It was also likely silenced since based on the time of death, he was killed in the early morning and a gun shot would have attracted attention."

John stopped and looked at Sherlock. He was looking at John with...was that admiration?

"Very good John. That's seems to be everything."

John was shocked. He raised a eyebrow. He never got every detail right.

"Everything?"

Sherlock stammered.

"Well almost everything..."

John sighed. That sounded more like it. But why had Sherlock hesitated to tell him he missed anything? He was usually eager to point out John's misgivings. Was Sherlock trying to be...nice? Lestrade cleared his throat.

"Well, what did you find Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked away from John and continued.

"John was right that this man was obviously working class given the state of his clothes. But his shoes aren't scuffed, which means he isn't on his feet often in his line of work. That narrows it down quite a bit. Also given the time of death and where he was killed, he was mostly heading home from work, which also implies he works odd hours."

John looked down at the man's face again, while Sherlock rattled off his analysis. He had seen that face somewhere before, he was was almost sure of it. Lestrade spoke up.

"Anything that connects him to Moriarty?"

Sherlock shook his head, obviously frustrated.

"Not that I can tell. Unless-"

"Unless it's the man that is suppose to be the clue."

John's voice rang out, sunken and hollow. He knew where he had seen this man. He felt his stomach sinking in horror. Sherlock walked up to him, his voice soft and nervous when he spoke.

"John, do you know this man?"

John looked up at him and nodded. He knew Sherlock could read the fear written on his face.

"He's the cabbie that drove me to your flat yesterday."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the case begins! Please leave kudos/comments! :)


	6. Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the new chapter! Enjoy :)

The moment John spoke, Sherlock's stomach sunk and the horrifying realization of the situation swept over him.

Mycroft had been right. And never before had Sherlock so wished he was wrong.

But even more horrifying was the fear Sherlock saw in John's eyes as he spoke. John was rarely truly frightened and when he was, it brought out a rare side of Sherlock. He had the immediate urge to comfort John. To smother him with kisses and tell him everything was going to be okay. John was the only person capable of bringing out both the protective and lustful side of Sherlock.

Sherlock pushed those thoughts out of his mind and tried to focus on the case at hand. He had to stay strong. For John. He turned to Lestrade.

"Did he have a wallet on him?"

Lestrade nodded.

"Yeah, but it had no ID or credit cards in it. Only cash."

Sherlock rubbed his temple in frustration and shook his head. Of course. It was so obvious now.

"And you didn't find that odd? Really Lestrade sometimes you can be as daft as Anderson."

Lestrade opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock was already walking toward where a policeman was collecting and bagging evidence, John trailing close behind. Lestrade sighed and followed them.

When Sherlock arrived in front of the evidence, he begin digging through the bags and quickly found the cabbie's wallet. He pulled it out of the bag and turned to John.

"Do you remember what note you paid with?"

John paused, thinking.

"I think a 20. It was pretty crumpled too since it had been in my pocket all day."

Sherlock nodded and begin rifling through the bills. All of them seemed to have been pressed, probably by Moriarty. A cabbie wasn't likely to care about the physical state of his money. Sherlock finally paused on a note. His eyes scanned it, finding small creases still left in the paper. This was it. He removed it from wallet and flipped it over. On the back, barely visible, was a small clear memory card. Sherlock felt John's breath on his neck.

"Is that...?"

"Yes it is."

Sherlock removed the card carefully from the note and turned around to face John. He flinched slightly, realizing how close they were. They hadn't been this close since-

Sherlock shook his head, trying to remove the image of John's lips pressing against his. Now was not the time.

He stood up quickly, backing up a little in order to put some distance between John and himself. He grabbed his phone from his coat pocket and removed his memory card. He was about place that small clear card into his phone when John placed his hand over his, stopping him. Sherlock could still the fear alight in his eyes.

"Wait. Are you sure you want to do this, Sherlock? Start this game again?"

"Of course. What choice do we have?"

"There is always a choice!"

John's face suddenly contorted in anger. But why? Sherlock scanned him for clues explaining the switch in emotion. And it dawned on him. This was about him. When he spoke, his voice was soft and comforting.

"Nothing is going to happen to me John. Not this time."

John's face relaxed, but he shook his head, turning his eyes away Sherlock.

"You can't promise that. With Moriarty, you can't ever know. I mean last time you-you..."

Died? Abandoned him? Betrayed him? All these described what he had done to John. Yet this man stood in front of him unable to speak the truth not because he was still angry or upset, but because he feared losing Sherlock again. Losing the man he loved.

This realization swept through Sherlock and he barely stopped himself from kissing John then and there. Kissing him until all the pain he had caused disappeared from his memory. Kissing him until he felt as loved as Sherlock felt. But he didn't. Instead, he placed his hand on John's shoulder lightly and met his eyes.

"I will never leave you like that again, John. If you believe anything, please believe that."

John paused, staring deep into Sherlock's eyes. Then finally he nodded.

Sherlock removed his hand from John's shoulder, satisfied, and slipped the memory card into his phone. After a few moments of static, Moriarty's smiling face appeared on the screen. Sherlock could feel John and Lestrade watching from behind him.

"Oh Sherlock Holmes! How I've missed you! It's been too long since we've played a "game" you and I. Then again I suppose we both were dead there for a little while."

Moriarty let out a chuckle. Sherlock shivered at that familiar, haunting sound.

"Oh Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. You have been busy, haven't you? The world's consulting detective back at work again. How lovely! But then again I haven't been idle either...However, I wanted to pause my work to play another round with you. But then again, as you've probably gathered, this particular game isn't really about you. No, no, no. It's all about your dear John."

Sherlock's eyes flashed towards John. He saw John swallow.

"This first one was all about your present, dear John. Your life in the moment. Mostly just so you could know that you could know that I was still watching you. Watching you go to work. Watching you and your lovely new wife."

Sherlock felt John's entire body stiffen beside him. He reached out and grabbed John's hand. He could then feel John relax slightly as they intertwined fingers.

"This next one is all about your past John. I've done quite a bit of research on you. Maybe it will reveal something to our Sherlock that he didn't know about you hmm? So as I clue, I give you this little rhyme."

Moriarty cleared his throat, dramatically.

"Before Sherlock came into his life,  
John was in search for anyone nice.  
This one woman was ever so sweet,  
That John went to see her twice a week."

Sherlock immediately began studying the rhyme, looking for any clues, anything that stuck out to him. Nothing. This truly was for John. He saw Moriarty sigh on the screen and shake his head.

"I did say this was for John, didn't I Sherlock? You can't deduce what you don't know."

Sherlock felt John squeeze his hand, this time comforting him. Moriarty smiled sweetly.

"Well I guess that's it for now! I am sure we will see each other again soon."

Moriarty looked like he was leaving the frame, but then quickly reappeared.

"Oh I almost forgot! I'll give you 12 hours to find her. If you don't well-"

He paused and his smile disappeared and was replaced by a cold, unfeeling glare Sherlock knew so well.

"You won't want to see what I do to her."

And with that last threat, the video ended. And Sherlock felt John release his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please comment and leave kudos if you are enjoying!


	7. Accusations

"I think I am just going to stay here tonight, Mary. Sherlock really needs me on this case."

John paced back and forth in the living room of 221B, his phone pressed against his ear. He didn't want to worry Mary. Didn't want to tell her that Moriarty had killed a person because of him. Didn't want to tell her another person might die just because of Moriarty's sick game. Mary sighed before answering.

"I understand. Just be safe."

She paused and then-

"I love you."

John opened his mouth to say it back, but nothing came out. Why? He had said to her many times before and even recently, despite their problems. So why was he so hesitate to say it now? He glanced over to see Sherlock sitting on the couch, his legs crossed, staring at his laptop. His curls were dangling in his face, the piercing blue of his eyes just visible. Sherlock. That's what had changed.

"John? Are you still there?"

Mary's voice rang out from the phone, sounding worried. What did it matter? One more lie wouldn't hurt.

"Yeah sorry. I love you too. I will talk to you soon."

Mary's voice was soft and hollow.

"Okay. Bye."

John hung up his phone and placed it in pocket. He walked over to Sherlock, who was typing away. John set down on couch next to him, placing his head in his hand.

"So...should we get started?"

John looked up to see Sherlock staring at him, those blue eyes gazing into his own. He ran his fingers through his hair before answering.

"I suppose. What's the plan here?"

Sherlock turned away and began typing again.

"Well, I guess we should start going through your past. Pick out any women who might have been an influence on your life. Relatives. Patients."

Sherlock paused.

"Girlfriends."

John chuckled.

"Honestly, there hasn't been that many women whom I've been serious with."

"Well, it was before you meet me so can you remember anyone particular then?"

John racked his brain.

"Well there was Judy, my high school girlfriend, but we were never serious. Only dated for a few months and then she dumped me for my mate Derek."

Sherlock turned back to John.

"I said people that meant something John. And also remember, they have to be "sweet" as Moriarty put it. And that doesn't sound very sweet."

John smiled at this. Sherlock sounded almost protective. He liked it.

"Well then that counts out my two girlfriends at university, who both cheated on me. Umm...Donna was nice. We dated briefly at Barts. And then Hanna and Paula. I met them both at a bar. Oh and Katie who I-"

"How many girls have you dated, John?"

John turned back to Sherlock, who was staring at him almost angrily. Was he...jealous?

"I guess in total about 20. About 15 before I met you."

Sherlock looked slightly surprised and even hurt. He turned back to his computer and began typing again.

"That seems quite above average."

John bristled a little at this statement.

"I don't think it is. It's about normal."

"Sleeping with 20 women is not what I'd call normal, John."

John was starting to get angry. Who was Sherlock to be accusing him of not being normal?

"I didn't sleep with all of them, Sherlock. And how would you know what normal is when it comes to relationships? You've never even been in one!"

Sherlock paused, staring at the computer screen.

"I never said that."

John was taken back. Sherlock Holmes? In a real relationship? Yes, the thought had crept into his head after their...experience together. But he never actually believed it. If anything, he thought Sherlock may have slept with someone before, but an actual relationship...

"Really? But I thought-"

Sherlock finally turned to him, his eyes cold.

"No. You just assumed, John. Like everyone else."

His eyes flashed back to the computer and resumed typing. John felt his stomach sink. He had just assumed, maybe even hoped that there hadn't been anybody. Anybody but him. He spoke, unable to hide the pain in his voice.

"So how many?"

"Only one."

"You mean besides me."

Sherlock stopped typing and looked up at him. His eyes were sad, but his voice level.

"We never... dated, John."

John looked down. He knew Sherlock was technically right, but it didn't make the words any easier to hear. He forced a laugh, trying to hide his pain.

"What do you call the last 5 years?"

John glanced up to see that Sherlock was now looking away, out toward the window. He shrugged.

"Friendship...most of the time anyway."

John shook his head.

"You know as well as I do our relationship was always more then that."

Sherlock eyes flashed back to John.

"Then why continue dating all those women? Why did you never act on it before all this? Before Mary?"

John felt anger and guilt course through his body. Why did Sherlock have to bring up Mary? He had to know how difficult this was for John. What he had and was going through with her. He shot back, his voice raised.

"Why did you not act on it? Why did you push me away last night? Why did you jump off a roof and leave me?"

John regretted it the moment he said those last words, but he couldn't take it back. Sherlock held his gaze just long enough for John to see his face fall before turning back to his laptop.

"I'm sorry Sherlock. I didn't mean-"

Sherlock was already typing again when his voice stopped John, firm and calm.

"I don't think we should talk about this right now, John. We have a case to solve. Now can you give me those names again? First and last this time."

John slumped into the couch, leaning his head against the wall and begin listing off the names. Sherlock was right. Now was not the time. However, John wondered if there ever would be one. A time for a real conversation. A time for him and Sherlock.

X

Over the next few hours, they continued on like this; John giving Sherlock the names of past girlfriends and Sherlock researching them. Only about 10 of them fit the criteria and less than that still lived within the city limits. John began calling them reluctantly one by one. Most of them didn't answer since it was the middle of the night, but those that did were not exactly happy to hear from him. Apparently John wasn't as good of a boyfriend as he remembered.

After they had gone through all of his past girlfriends to no avail, they began looking through John's past patients since he had no living relatives other than Harry, with whom he did not have the best relationship. The hours began to wind down and still they couldn't find anyone who fit the profile. As the last hour approached, John could tell Sherlock's level of frustration was rising, as he paced back and forth through the flat.

"Come on John! You must be missing someone!"

John, on the other hand, could barely keep his eyes open. The fact that a person's life was hanging in the balance was the only thing that was keeping him awake.

"I can't think of anyone else, Sherlock. I swear."

Sherlock huffed angrily, rubbing his temple.

"Then you must not be thinking hard enough! A woman's life is in grave danger, John!"

John set up on the couch and gritted his teeth.

"You think I don't know that! I just can't think right now!"

He sighed, falling back into the cushions.

"I just need something to wake me up."

Sherlock quickly turned and walked into the kitchen and began searching through the mess. John realized he must be looking for coffee. He chuckled. Sherlock Holmes making him coffee. That was a rare occurrence.

"There might be some left in top drawer to the left of the stove. And remember no sugar-"

John set up with a jolt and rushed over to Sherlock's computer sitting on the table. Sherlock, hearing the commotion, hurried back into the living room.

"John, what is it?"

John ignored him, too busy searching for the website. It couldn't be her, she couldn't still be working there, but he had to make sure. When he came to the website, he quickly clicked on the employee list. He heard Sherlock's voice over his shoulder.

"Bart's? But we already went through all the patients there. Do you think it may be another doctor?"

"No, but she did work there."

John was scanning the employee list, hoping he wouldn't see her name. Sherlock sighed in frustration.

"Well who is she? What did she do?"

John gasped as his eyes fell on the name he didn't want to find. His swallowed and his stomach clenched is worry and fear. Not her. She didn't deserve this.

He turned to Sherlock as his grabbed his coat from the back of the chair.

"She worked in the hospital cafeteria. She was my best mate."

He stood up quickly, putting on his coat as he strode to the door.

"And if I know her, she's working tonight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do leave kudos/comments if you are enjoying! :)


	8. Past

John ran out the door and down the stairs, Sherlock a step behind.

"So I still don't understand, John. Who is this woman? And how do you know she is the one Moriarty is after?"

John wrapped his coat around him as he walked into the cold night air, searching for a cab to hail.

"Her name was Carol. She used to always work nights at Bart's in the cafeteria there. Every med student had to work at least two night shifts a week so that's why Moriarty said I saw her twice a week."

John finally found a cab and flagged it down, him and Sherlock hurrying inside.

"Bart's Hospital please. As fast as you can."

The cabbie nodded at John's words and began driving. Sherlock turned to John, still full of questions.

"So I assume she was sweet as Moriarty said?"

John let out a curt laugh. He was surprised and frightened at how clever Moriarty was sometimes.

"Of course, but that's not what he was referring to. Before we left in the morning, after our shift was over, we used to always have coffee together. Mine no sugar. And hers-"

He paused, smiling at the memories.

"4 lumps of sugar. I used to always tease her saying she was far too sweet already."

He turned toward Sherlock.

"That's what tipped me off. When you were about to make me coffee."

Sherlock nodded, but he was still frowning.

"But then why did you never mention her? If you were so close?"

John sighed, unable to hide the guilt he was sure Sherlock could see plastered on his face.

"Actually I hadn't thought about her in ages before tonight. After I left for the army, I lost touch with almost everyone, including her. And then after meeting you..."

His eyes flashed toward Sherlock before finishing.

"Everything changed."

Sherlock nodded again. He obviously had more questions, but he kept them to himself.

John looked out the window as they drove at a quick pace through London. He glanced at his watch. They still had a little more than 30 minutes left. Plenty of time he told himself.

Then suddenly the cab started to slow and after a few minutes, it came to complete stop. Sherlock leaned forward to speak the cabbie.

"What's going on? Why have we stopped?"

The cabbie pointed up ahead.

"Looks like a pile up. Probably some prat that decided to drive themselves home after a night at the pub."

John leaned forward as well and sure enough, he saw flashing lights up ahead. He glanced down at his watch again. His heart jumped. 25 minutes. He looked at Sherlock, who was staring out the window.

"I can see Bart's up ahead, John. About ten blocks."

John ran his fingers through his hair, his hands beginning to shake. They would never make in time at this pace. Unless...

His eyes flashed towards Sherlock's.

"Do you still know the city like the back of your hand, Sherlock?"

Sherlock smirked and thrust notes into the cabbie's hand.

"Always. Let's go."

And with that, he flew out of the cab, John following close behind. They began running down the sidewalk, Sherlock leading them through every alley, every empty building, all the shortcuts he knew. John could see Bart's growing closer as he ran. He glanced down at his watch. 15 minutes. He shouted ahead at Sherlock, his voice hoarse.

"Only a few minutes left."

He saw Sherlock's long legs speed up and John forced himself to keep up at the grueling pace. They were almost there. After a quick shortcut through an alley, Bart's finally lay in front of them.

They rushed through the front doors. John stopped, getting his bearings as he tried to catch his breath. Finally, realizing where they were, he pointed down a hallway.

"This way."

Sherlock nodded and they began rushing down the hallway, John taking the lead this time. After a few twists and turns, John saw the cafeteria doors up ahead. He looked down at his watch. 8 minutes. They were going to make it. He only hoped she was still there.

He flung open the doors and began searching for that familiar face. A few doctors were sitting in the corner, but otherwise the cafeteria was empty. John began to panic. What if she was at home? What if Moriarty had already gotten to her? Then a voice rang out from behind him.

"John Watson. Is that you?"

John breathed a sigh of relief and turned around to smile at the older woman walking toward him from the kitchen. She was little shorter than John and looked to be in her mid-60s. Her grey hair was pulled back in a bun on top of her head and her green eyes were bright and cheerful. Just as John remembered her. He reached out and brought her into a deep hug.

"Yeah, it's me Carol. How have you been?"

She released him, smiling and scanned him up and down.

"Oh I am just fine. But you-"

Her eyes twinkled and she smirked.

"You've gotten old."

John laughed. Same old Carol.

"Yeah I have. But you don't look like you've aged a day."

He turned to Sherlock, who looked quite shocked by Carol's appearance.

"This is Sherlock-"

Carol waved her hand to quiet him.

"Of course I know who he is, John. My mind hasn't gone yet."

She reached and kissed Sherlock on the cheek, her eyes looking him up and down as well.

"He's much shorter than he looks on the tele."

John saw Sherlock smirk.

"It helps to have a short friend."

Carol laughed, her entire face lighting up. John nodded at Sherlock, who after winking at Carol, walked away, his phone pressed to his ear. John turned back to Carol. He was still smiling, but his face was serious. There was still Moriarty to worry about.

"Carol, I know this may sound odd, but someone may be trying to kill you."

Carol chuckled.

"Who would bother killing an old bird like me?"

John forced a smile.

"Because of me. Your connection to me. It's all my fault."

Carol hit John on the shoulder playfully.

"Don't be silly John. Don't blame yourself for what some common criminal may be doing. You're far better than them. You and him."

She nodded toward Sherlock.

"You boys have been busy. I've read about quite a few of your cases."

John fell into a nearby chair. He chuckled.

"Sometimes I wonder why I still do it."

Carol shook her head and set down next to him.

"Don't be silly. You love it. I don't remember ever seeing you so happy."

John looked up.

"You can't be serious?"

Carol placed her hand on John's knee.

"I most certainly am. Back when you were working here, you were never happy."

She raised her hand to stop John before he spoke.

"Don't deny it. Yes, you would smile and laugh and pretend. But there was always something missing. And now, I don't know if it's the adventure and danger or-"

She tilted her head toward Sherlock, who was placing his phone in his pocket.

"Him. All I know, is that you seem...complete."

John knew she was right. Carol could always read him, even better than Sherlock. He grasped her hand. He wanted to tell her how much he had missed this. How sorry he was for losing touch with her. But as he opened his mouth, Sherlock walked up.

"Lestrade is on his way."

John released Carol's hand and stood up.

"It's just a precaution, but the police are going to bring you back to the station for now."

Carol nodded and stood up as well. She brushed her hand against John's cheek.

"I understand. Let me just go grab my coffee and my bag."

She walked away and disappeared into the kitchen. John saw Sherlock staring at her, his brow furrowed.

"Not what you were expecting, Sherlock?"

Sherlock shook his head, turning to John.

"Honestly, I was expecting a different relationship entirely."

John shook his head. Of course Sherlock thought it was another sexual relationship.

"I did say that she was my best mate, not my girlfriend. And she was. We used to talk about everything. She was always there with a smile and a playful jab to make me feel better. Kinda like-"

Sherlock interrupted.

"A mother?"

John glanced at Sherlock, who finally looked like he understood, and nodded. There was no use denying it. John's mother had died when he was young and his father...well it was easy to see where Harry got her drinking problem from. John had broken off all contact with him after he left for university. Carol was closest thing he had ever had to a real parent.

He smiled as Carol returned from the kitchen, bag and coffee in hand. She took a long sip from the cup as she approached. John smirked.

"Still four sugars?"

Carol nodded and winked at him.

"Of course.

And just as she was taking another sip, Sherlock's voice shot out, hollow and raw.

"Where did you get that coffee? It's not in a styrofoam cup like the others."

John looked around to see Sherlock was right. He felt his stomach sink. He turned back to Carol, who seemed confused.

"Why my friend Jim of course. He brings me coffee everyday. I thought you knew him. He said you were friends."

John felt himself go numb in fear. No. It couldn't be. Sherlock ripped the coffee from Carol's hand and began examining it. John grabbed her by the shoulders and leaned down, trying to keep his voice steady.

"What's his last name? Do you know?"

Carol shook her head, still confused, frowning.

"No, I don't know his last name. He used to work in IT upstairs. His a nice boy just like-"

Her words were cut off suddenly as she began gasping for air, clutching her chest. John shook his head in denial. No no no. She began to collapse and John tried to hold her up, as he screamed out for help.

"Someone please! She's been poisoned!"

The doctors in the cafeteria rushed over, pushing John aside. He fell on the ground next to her as she began choking on the foam filling her throat and mouth. Her eyes were opened wide in shock as her body began to convulse. John heard Sherlock using the intercom to call for more help. He leaned over her, cupping her cheek, tears now falling from his eyes. The doctors were trying to clear her throat, but John knew it was no use. It was over. She was dying.

So he did the only thing he could. He forced a smile, looking down at her and began stroking her cheek.

"It's okay, Carol. It's going to be okay."

She continued to convulse, slowly suffocating, but she looked up at him and held his gaze until her body finally stilled and the light in her eyes went out.

John glanced down at his watch. The 12 hours were up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all that are still reading! I am so glad to share my story with all of you. As always, kudos/comments are very very much appreciated!


	9. Acceptance

The next few hours were a blur for John. When the police arrived, they both gave their statements with Sherlock doing most of the talking thankfully. Then Sherlock continued to examine the crime scene with Lestrade and the others. John, on the other hand, set himself down in the corner of the cafeteria and didn't move.

He was numb, from the inside out. All he could hear and feel was his own heartbeat thumping in his chest. It was the only reason John realized he wasn't dreaming or dead.

As a doctor, John knew he was simply in shock and that it would pass. But it didn't make it any easier. He hadn't felt this way since-

"John?"

John raised his head to see Sherlock staring at him, his face wrought with concern.

"Are you ready to go?"

John simply nodded. It seemed like his voice had failed him. Or maybe he just didn't want to talk.

He stood up and Sherlock lead him out of the hospital without another word. As they stepped outside, the morning sun hit John's eyes. He winced and looked down at his watch. Sure enough, it was 8 o'clock in the morning. He had been up for almost a full day and yet somehow he wasn't tired. He did want to sleep though, if only to try and forget this day.

Sherlock hailed a cab and they slipped inside. He began rattling off the address of John and Mary's place to the cabbie, but John quickly put a hand on his knee to stop him. He didn't want to face Mary. He didn't want to face anyone. He cleared his throat, his voice hoarse and soft when he spoke.

"No. I just want to go home."

Sherlock looked confused and then it dawned on him what John meant. He nodded and turned back to the cabbie.

"Nevermind. Just go straight to 221B Baker Street."

John sighed and laid his head against the window. In his normal state, he would have never said that. But he didn't care. It was the truth. That flat was only place he had ever felt at home. At 221B with Sherlock.

X X X X X

John awoke hours later on the couch, his mind clear and relaxed. He opened his eyes slowly, adjusting to light. He lifted his arms above his head to stretch and realized that Sherlock's coat was draped over him. He smiled at this kind gesture. It was so unlike Sherlock. And then suddenly he realized why he had probably done it: to comfort him.

A wave of memories from last night washed over him and John suddenly felt sick. The memory of Carol's bright smiling eyes flashed before him followed quickly by those cold, dead ones. Her delightful laugh turned into a silent scream of pain. Her warm comforting touch turned into a chilling brush of her deceased flesh. Carol was gone. And it was all his fault.

"You're awake."

Sherlock's voice pulled John out of the pain of the past day and into the present. He set up quickly on the couch and saw Sherlock standing before him with a tray of tea and biscuits. John shook his head, but smiled.

"You didn't have to do that."

Sherlock waved him off as he set the tray on the coffee table in front of him.

"It's not a problem."

John yawned and began pouring himself a cup.

"You find any clues at crime scene?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Nothing yet. They are doing a full autopsy today."

John nodded and took a sip of his tea. Maybe it was over and Moriarty was done with the game. He had won after all. He set the cup down and looked back up at Sherlock.

"So how long was I out?"

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and looked out the window.

"I guess most of the day. It's almost 5."

John sighed as he picked up a biscuit and took a small bite. He looked up to see Sherlock still watching, his eyes narrowed, examining him. He let out a frustrated sigh.

"Would you please sit down and stop deducing me, Sherlock? It's freaking me out."

Sherlock set down next to John, slowly, his body still tense.

"Are you okay, John?"

John let out a cold laugh, shaking his head.

"Of course not, Sherlock! I am now responsible for not one, but two deaths. One of them being-"

Sherlock stopped him, his voice firm.

"None of this is your fault, John! How could you've known any of this was going to happen? Don't blame yourself. If anyone's to blame-"

Sherlock paused looking away.

"It's me."

John furrowed his brow.

"How Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned back to John, his eyes guilty.

"Mycroft warned me something like this might happen. That Moriarty would target you to try and get back at me. I should have never gotten you involved. I should have left you alone. But I was selfish..."

He swallowed and met John's eyes.

"Because I need you."

Sherlock quickly looked away. John opened his mouth in shock. Sherlock needed him? Him, John Watson? He knew Sherlock cared for him, wanted him, but he actually needed him? And now he was blaming himself because he thought that need, that desire had caused all this. John grabbed Sherlock's face and turned it towards his.

"This is not your fault, Sherlock. Yes, none of this may have happened if you had left me alone. If you'd never come back from the dead. If I'd never met you."

Sherlock tried to rip his face away, but John held it tight, forcing him to met his eyes.

"A lot of things wouldn't have happened if I had never met you. I would never have been kidnapped or beaten within an inch of my life. I would never have been strapped up with explosives, waiting for a mad man to pull the trigger. I would never have had to watch you die. If I had never met you-"

John paused and burrowed his eyes into Sherlock's, willing him to understand.

"I would miserable. I would be alone and lost. I would still be walking with a cane and feeling sorry for myself. I would be...incomplete."

Sherlock tensed in shock at John's words, but he didn't pull away. John smiled and released his grip on Sherlock face and ran his thumb gently against his cheek. Despite everything that had happened, he was still somehow content, even happy here...with Sherlock. Sherlock began to relax under John's touch, but suddenly he shook his head, tears forming in his eyes.

"I don't deserve you, John Watson."

John smirked.

"No, you don't."

He ran his fingers gently through Sherlock's curls.

"But we deserve each other."

And this time, it was John's lips that gently pressed against Sherlock's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw! This is one of my favorites so I hoped you guys enjoyed it. Next chapter will be pure smut so prepare yourself! As always, please please leave comments/kudos!


	10. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware fair reader: M/M Smut is ahead!

As their lips met, Sherlock felt his heart leap in chest, his mind buzzing. John Watson was actually...kissing him. Without hesitation. Without question. Why? Because he wanted him. Needed him. He even-

"I love you."

The words left Sherlock's mouth before he could stop them. John pulled back from the kiss and stared at him.

"What?"

Sherlock swallowed. He hadn't meant for it to come out this way. But staring into John's eyes, kissing his lips, that fact had never been so startlingly clear. He cleared his throat, trying his best to sound nonchalant.

"I love you too. I just thought you ought to know that."

John's face softened and he let out a soft laugh.

"You better love me, you bloody idiot."

And with that, John began kissing him again, with even more fervor this time. Sherlock relaxed under John's loving touch, welcoming it. He cupped both John's cheeks, deepening the kiss, his tongue playing softly with John's. God, it felt so good that he wanted to flip John over and take him right then and there. But he was determined to take it slow, savor every moment, unlike the last time. He wanted to make John feel as loved and wanted as he made him feel.

Sherlock's lips left John's mouth and he began kissing his jaw down to his neck. He wanted to explore every part of him, kiss and lick every freckle and every scar. He began nibbling on John's collarbone, which cause a soft moan to leave John's lips. So he liked that. Good to know. And he filed it away in his mind palace for future reference.

Still nibbling at his neck, he pushed John down on the couch until he was laying on top of him. He ran his hands down John's shirt and John began shivering at the light touch. Sherlock couldn't help but smile. He loved how easily the army doctor was coming undone and loved even more, that he was the cause of it. He returned his lips to John's mouth as he slowly placed his hands under John's shirt and began teasing the flesh there.

This caused another moan to escape John's mouth as Sherlock ran his fingernails lightly over John's chest and back. Sherlock could feel John's hardness growing beneath him. His own cock was throbbing with need and he began slowly grinding against John. He moaned into John's mouth, enjoying the wonderful friction.

Sherlock's mind was almost completely clouded with lust and desire. He was almost sure John's was too based on the erratic movements of John's lips against his and way he was tugging on Sherlock's hair with every thrust. But Sherlock didn't want to take things too far. Didn't want to rush it. So he continued the kissing, nibbling and grinding until-

"Sherlock please.."

The words came out like a whimper from John's mouth, full of desperate need. Sherlock removed his mouth from John's and looked down at him. His cheeks and neck were beautifully flushed and his eyes dark with desire. He showed no sighs of doubt or question. Yet Sherlock had to ask.

"Are you sure you want to do this John?"

John let a short chuckle and a smile.

"I have always wanted this."

Sherlock smiled too. That was all his needed. Together, still entwined, they rose from the couch and fumbled through the kitchen and into Sherlock's bedroom. Once there, Sherlock released John, laying him onto to the bed. His own shirt and trousers were removed in a rush and as he climbed onto the bed, he paused. John was gazing at him in utter disbelief. Sherlock immediately felt embarrassed. Had he done something wrong?

"What is it, John?"

John brought his hand up to caress Sherlock's cheek.

"No, it's just-You are so gorgeous, Sherlock. I mean I have always know it, but to see you here in front of me-"

He smiled.

"I think you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."

Sherlock felt himself blush at the complement and smiled back at John, climbing on top of him.

"You are the gorgeous one..."

He lay a small kiss on John's lips, cheek, neck and collarbone. He then looked back up at him, still smiling.

"Every single bit of you."

John sighed happily and softly ran his fingers through Sherlock's curls.

"I love you."

Sherlock smirked.

"I know."

And he went back to nibbling at John's neck and collarbone, slowly working himself down to his still clothed chest.

Sherlock unbuttoned John's shirt slowly to reveal his tan skin, laying kisses on every inch as he moved down him. Once opened, the shirt was quickly discarded and Sherlock began working on John's trousers, undoing his belt and buttons. His hands were now beginning to tremble with anticipation, but he somehow managed to get them undone. Sherlock looked up at John for some type of reassurance and once he saw him nod, Sherlock slipped off his trousers and pants together.

He sat back to admire the man laying before him. John still had the build a solider, tan and muscular, despite being out of service for so long. He had a number of light scars over his legs and arms. And then there was the most visible and large that lay on his shoulder from the bullet John had taken all those years ago. Sherlock saw John's eyes flash to it nervously, clearly embarrassed. He leaned over and placed a long kiss onto the scar.

"You are perfect. Just like I have always known."

John relaxed at these words and Sherlock lay a quick kiss on his lips before reaching into the drawer of his nightside, pulling out a small bottle. He slipped off his own pants and began to caress John's inner thigh. He uncapped the bottle, lubing up his fingers before spreading John's legs and placing one on the tight hole. He leaned over his lover and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. Sherlock wanted this first time to be perfect.

"Just relax, okay?"

John nodded and Sherlock continued to kiss him, slowly pushing a finger in. He felt John tense at first, but as he continued to move in and out, kissing him deeply, John began to slack around his finger. Sherlock pushed another finger inside and began to curl them upwards, searching for that sweet spot.

When John let out a whimper, Sherlock knew he had found it. He began to press on the bundle of nerves over and over again, until John became a quivering mess underneath him, sweat bedding on his forehead, his eyes glazed over, mumbling obscenities.

Sherlock removed his fingers slowly, laying kisses on John's hipbone before lifting him up and lining himself with his entrance. Sherlock leaned over to kiss him, the man he loved, his John, as he gently slide inside him.

Sherlock moaned as the tight heat surrounded his cock. He moved slowly at first, not wanting to hurt John. But after a few thrusts, he felt John grab his hair tightly and his lips move to his ear.

"Please Sherlock just fuck me."

Sherlock chuckled into John's throat.

"As you wish."

And he began slamming his cock into John relentlessly, fast and hard. John pulled Sherlock's mouth down on to his, kissing, licking and biting on his lips. Sherlock could feel his orgasm building, but he was determined John would come first.

He reached in between their bodies and began stroking John's cock in rhythm with the thrusts. John whimpered at the touch and Sherlock could feel him tightening around him. He began thrusting harder, snapping his body into John's until finally with a shout of Sherlock's name, he came. Two strokes after, Sherlock came as well, his orgasm flooding through him with such intensity, he almost blacked out.

After coming down from the glorious high and regaining the movement of his muscles, he rolled off John, still breathing heavily. He turned his head to see John smiling at him. Sherlock reached out and ran his thumb along John's cheek.

"Good?"

John chuckled, grabbing Sherlock's hand and placing a kiss on it.

"More like bloody fantastic."

Sherlock smiled again. He couldn't ever remember smiling this much. Or being this happy, this utterly content. He leaned closer to John and laid a soft kiss on his lips.

"Good."

And with those last words, Sherlock Holmes, for the first time in a long time, fell into a restful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you guys enjoyed all the smutty and fluffy goodness! Please leave kudos/comments! :)


	11. Trust

When Sherlock awoke, John was no longer there. He sat up slowly, stretching, his body achy. He had a feeling that the soreness would only get worse as the day progressed, but he didn't care. It had been worth it to see the look in John's eyes as he came.

Sherlock found himself wishing John was still in bed next to him. He had the strange urge to cuddle, to be close to him. He had never felt that need before. In fact, usually, it was the opposite. But with John everything was different. Everything was better.

However, he assumed that John must be in the living room doing research for the case, which was good. Sherlock had slept for far too long judging by the light, though it had been kind of John to let him rest.

"John?"

He received no response, only silence. Sherlock's heart sank. Maybe he had left? He couldn't have really believed that John would just give up everything for him. He had a family and much more stable life without Sherlock and his baggage. He had used him just like Seb-

No. He couldn't think like that. John loved him. John wanted to be with him. Sherlock looked on the nightstand to see John's phone lying beside his. So he was still here. He probably just couldn't hear him. He might be downstairs talking with Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock rose from the bed and slipped on his pants and robe, tying it around him. He walked out his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

The flat was eerily quiet. Too quiet. No one was in the kitchen and nothing seemed to have been touched or moved. Sherlock swallowed. Something was wrong. He could feel it. He called out his former flatmate's name again, forcing his voice to keep steady.

"John?"

Still nothing. Sherlock slowly approached the living room. This could be a trap. Moriarty. He could have kidnapped John and was luring Sherlock out. He stiffened and curled his fists, ready to fight. But as he walked in the living room, all he saw was John laying on the couch, his face turned away.

Sherlock let out a sigh of relief. John had just fallen asleep again. It wasn't surprising. The last few days had been stressful and John wasn't used to working on limited sleep like he was. He approached John and bent down.

"John. You need to get up. We still have a case to solve remember."

John still didn't wake. Sherlock furrowed his brow. John was usually a light sleeper. He reached out a hand to shake him, but as his fingers touched John's shoulder, his body fell back on the couch and blank, dead eyes stared back at Sherlock.

No, no, no. It couldn't be. Sherlock began to shake John roughly, but the body remained still. Sherlock pressed his fingers to John's jugular, searching for a pulse. Anything. Any hint that his John was still there. But all he felt was cold flesh.

"There's nothing you can do."

A chill ran down Sherlock's spine the moment he heard the voice. He stood up and turned around to the smiling face of Jim Moriarty.

"It's over Sherlock. Now it's just you and me."

Sherlock glanced back down at John and shook his head, his eyes now filled with tears.

"No. It can't be. He can't be dead...he can't."

Sherlock fell to the floor, his legs failing him. It was over. He had been defeated. Moriarty had won. But none of that seemed to matter compared to John's dead body lying next to him. The one person he cared about, the one person he needed and loved, was dead. What was the point in caring anymore?

He looked up and saw Moriarty slowly approaching him, still smiling.

_Sherlock!_

"Ready to die, Sherly? Or should we drag this out?"

Sherlock stared him straight in the eye, tears rolling down his cheek, his face cold.

"I am already dead without John."

_Sherlock! Wake up!_

Moriarty laughed and pulled out a gun, pointing it at Sherlock's head.

"Well I guess this is goodbye, love..."

Sherlock closed his eyes, waiting for death's embrace. He heard Moriarty cock the gun.

"See you never."

_SHERLOCK!_

And suddenly he was sitting up in bed, in a pool of sweat. He turned to see John sitting next to him, his eyes fraught with worry.

"Are you alright? You wouldn't wake up."

Sherlock's heart was still thumping in his chest, but he couldn't help but smile as he looked at John. Thank God. Thank God it wasn't real.

"I'm fine. Just a nightmare is all."

John nodded and rubbed Sherlock's leg briefly, smiling. Sherlock shivered wonderfully at the touch. He still wasn't used to John touching him like that. And part of him hoped he'd never get used to it. He looked over at John to see he was now standing and fully dressed.

"Well we better get going. Molly just called. She has something for us."

Sherlock nodded sharply and rose from the bed quickly, rushing to put on clothes. He had to act professional. There was a case to solve. But he couldn't help thinking about John's dead eyes looking up at him. He had the odd desire to hold John's hand.

X

As the pair left the flat, Sherlock shrugging on his coat, he saw John typing something on his phone before placing it back in his pocket. His eyes narrowed. Who was he texting at this hour? It was almost midnight.

As they stepped into the cold air, the answer suddenly hit Sherlock. Mary. He felt his stomach clench. It was so obvious. She was still his wife after all. That hadn't changed just because... _it_ had happened.

The problem was that Sherlock didn't hate Mary or even dislike her. In fact, he did like her, despite her shooting him and all. She was strong, kind and most of all she cared about John, almost as much as he did. Sherlock could have easily written her off as a horrible person who didn't deserve John anyway, but he couldn't do that. It simply wasn't true.

"You getting in?"

Sherlock looked up to see John standing next to a cab, the door opened. He quickly scurried inside, John closing the door behind them.

"Barts, please."

The cabbie nodded and smirked.

"Not in a rush this time, huh?"

Sherlock looked up and realized it was the same cabbie from last night. He looked over at John, worried about how he would react. He saw John swallow and shake his head.

"No, no rush."

The cabbie nodded again and began driving. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Sherlock kept glancing over at John, wondering what he should say. Should he breach the subject of Mary? Or talk about anything that happened between them? Or should he say nothing and wait for a more appropriate time? Sherlock had settled on waiting, to give John time to think, before-

"Sherlock are we not going to talk about this?"

He turned to see John staring at him, almost angrily. Sherlock looked down at his knees.

"Talk about what?"

John let out a frustrated sigh.

"You know exactly what. About what happened. About us."

Sherlock turned back to John and raised an eyebrow.

"Us?"

John let out a curt laugh.

"Of course 'us'! It happened between us! It is about us!"

Sherlock shook his head. That's not what he meant.

"No, it's not that. I just wondered if..."

He paused. How could this man make him nervous, anxious when no one else could?

"There is an 'us'...?"

Sherlock looked away out the window. He didn't want to hear the response, but it had to be asked. His brain had come to logical answer already. John would explain that he couldn't leave Mary, but they could still be together in secret. And Sherlock would say yes because he needed John, loved him. But then after a while, John would get bored or tired or fed up with Sherlock and leave him for good, back to his real family. Back to-

"Of course there's an 'us', you idiot."

Sherlock turned back to John to see his face had softened and he was smiling. He reached out and took Sherlock's hand in his. Sherlock furrowed his brow. He didn't understand...

"You didn't really think I would say all those things, have sex with you and then just leave you?"

Sherlock shrugged, the realization of John's words beginning to dawn on him. But he didn't want to raise his hopes.

"Not exactly like that but-"

John interrupted.

"But you made a logical assumption based off what you know about relationships and maybe some of your own experiences and fears and just decided that I would abandon you or ask you to be the mistress or something ridiculous like that?"

He laughed, shaking his head.

"Well I hate to say it, but you are not getting off that easy, Sherlock. You're stuck with me. If you want to be, that is."

Sherlock stammered, lost for words. John was actually, really choosing... _him_. He still couldn't speak and felt utterly ridiculous, sitting there with his mouth opened. John seemed to be enjoying it though, his eyes twinkling.

"Well do you want to be with me or not? I need an answer here."

Sherlock finally managed to speak, the words tumbling out of his mouth.

"Of course!-I mean, yes I would like that. But what about-"

John raised his hand to stop him.

"I already texted Mary to tell her we need to talk tomorrow. It's not going to be easy, but I have to come clean and tell her everything."

John sighed, his eyes sad at first, but when he looked back up at Sherlock, his smile was genuine.

"I think it's for the best. We haven't been happy for a while. And I'm sure she still let me help out with the baby, be involved as much as possible. It's not a simple solution, but it's not a simple problem either."

Sherlock frowned. He didn't like it. John was giving up so much.

"Are you sure you want to do all that? For me?"

John placed his other hand in Sherlock's hair, gripping it playfully.

"When are you going to get it through that thick scull of yours that I want you?! That I want to be with you and only you!"

Sherlock shook his head. There were things...things John wouldn't like.

"You don't understand, John. I'm not good enough. I am always going to be horribly flawed. I am always going to cruel and calculating. I am always going to be a 'high-functioning' sociopath. I am always going to be an...addict."

But John was still smiling.

"I already know that, Sherlock. I know you are far from perfect, but so I am. I know you might ignore me for hours on end or refuse to eat for days. I know you will be short with me, criticize me and make me feel worthless sometimes. And I am sure I will do to the same to you. But that's okay because we will also laugh together, solve mysteries together and _be_ together. And as far as the drugs-"

He paused and looked Sherlock straight in the eye, clutching his hand tight.

"We will get through it. Together. That's the thing. From now on, no matter how hard it gets, no matter what happens, we deal with it together. The two of us. Always. Okay?"

Sherlock felt his mouth creep into a smile as he nodded. The fear inside him told him he shouldn't believe John's words, but he couldn't help but trust in every word. Not only was there no hint of deception in his face, but what he felt for John as he stared into his eyes outweighed any fear, doubt or even logic. And he was finally beginning to understand that he needed to trust that feeling.

John was smiling too and he leaned in, placing a soft kiss on Sherlock's lips just as they arrived at the hospital.

"We're here, lover boys."

John and Sherlock smirked at the cabbie's joke as they handed him the money and stepped out.

As they walked into the hospital, John suddenly turned to Sherlock, grinning.

"You know this means you'll have to step in the daddy role too?"

Sherlock grimaced.

"I'm not good with kids."

John nudged him on the arm.

"Don't be silly. You were great with the ring bearer at the wedding. He loved you. And besides, I think you would be a great father."

John grinned once more before turning to head up the stairs. Sherlock shook his head, smiling slightly as he followed him. He didn't think he would be a good parent. He was impatient, bluntly honest and easily annoyed. But if John thought he could be, he would try. If Sherlock believed in anything, it was that everything was possible with John by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who is still reading! Your kudos/comments are much appreciated. So please keep giving them! :)


	12. Future

As John walked down the stairs toward the morgue, Sherlock on his heels, he felt lighter than air. He would have probably been skipping if it had been in his nature. These last few hours with Sherlock had been some of happiness in his life. The mere memory of Sherlock's lips against his, biting and licking, as he thrust into him over and over was enough to make him shiver with pleasure. But it wasn't just the physical aspect. It was the confession of love before and after from both of them that made it so special. There was no more doubt in either of their minds anymore that this is what they wanted, what they needed. And John felt at peace for maybe the first time in his life.

As he walked through the door and into the morgue, that peace however quickly evaporated as he saw Molly standing next Carol's body. He swallowed, guilt surging through him. He knew it wasn't his fault, as Sherlock had said, but that didn't stop him from feeling responsible for the dead woman lying before him.

As he approached the body, Sherlock now next to him, he felt a hand squeeze his and turned his head to Sherlock, flashing a quick smile to show he was alright. Sherlock nodded and strode quickly toward Molly, ahead of John. It felt good to know that Sherlock was there for him, even if he didn't quite understand what he was feeling.

As John arrived next to Sherlock, he stared down at Carol's body. It was eerie looking down at the lifeless corpse that used to be his friend. It didn't even seem like her anymore. There was no twinkle in her eye, no smile on her face, none of the things that had made her who she was. It was just a empty body. John had never been a religious man, but he did hope that Carol's laughter and playful nature was out there somewhere, bringing to joy to others like it always brought to him.

"John?"

Sherlock's voice brought him back to reality and he looked up at him. He seemed torn between worry and frustration.

"Are you okay?"

John nodded, forcing a smile.

"Yeah I'm fine."

Sherlock sighed, his impatience taking over.

"Well, then do pay attention, John. You being distracted distracts me."

John rolled his eyes. Same old Sherlock. Usually he would be annoyed with Sherlock's short nature, but somehow he found it comforting in all the chaos.

"Sorry. What did I miss?"

Sherlock huffed and turned back to Molly.

"Well Molly was just telling me that the autopsy results showed that the poison was in fact cyanid, which of course I already knew based on time it took for the poison to take effect and the symptoms that occurred once it did take effect. I was about to be rather short with her for dragging us down here for no reason-"

Molly cut him off, her eyes twinkling. John loved how little she dealt with Sherlock's nagging now. She was not the timid girl he had met a few years before.

"But he rightly shut up when I showed him this."

She held out her hand to reveal a tiny memory card, even smaller and thinner than the first one. John reached down and picked it up to examine it. It was barley bigger than his fingernail. John looked up at her.

"Where did you find this?"

Molly looked down at the body.

"In her stomach, actually. The fact that it hadn't been digested means that she had swallowed it in the last few hours before her death."

Sherlock turned to John, snatching the card out his fingers and examining himself as he spoke.

"Which means it was most likely hidden in her coffee since Moriarty apparently brought it to her."

John nodded and smiled ever so slightly. It made sense. Carol never really did sip her coffee. She always gulped it down. He looked up to see Sherlock now holding his phone, removing his memory card.

"Really Sherlock? Now? Here?"

Sherlock sighed, looking rather exacerbated.

"Well, yes. We have wasted enough time already."

John raised an eyebrow as Sherlock met his gaze.

"Wasted?"

Sherlock cheeks suddenly become flush. Was he actually blushing? John couldn't help but smirk.

"Well not wasted, no, but um I do think we should get right to this now. We don't know how much time we have."

Still smirking, John nodded. He didn't think it was possible to truly embarrass Sherlock Holmes, yet somehow he had done it. He felt quite proud of himself. Not to mention, the flush on Sherlock neck and cheeks in contrast with his pale skin made the man even more gorgeous.

However, it the blush disappeared rather quickly once Sherlock slipped the memory card inside his phone and Moriarty's face appeared on the screen, smiling brightly. John felt Sherlock stiffen next to him as his own body tensed.

"Well hello once again, Sherly! I am assuming John is there with you in the morgue along with the beautiful Molly-"

Moriarty winked at the camera. John saw Molly shiver, crossing her arms.

"By the way, John, very sorry about Carol. She was such a sweetheart."

He forced his face into a fake frown before shrugging.

"But then again, she was just a little past her prime, wouldn't you agree?"

John clenched his fists, anger surging through him. How could Moriarty make him this livid without even being here? On the phone screen, Moriarty wagged his finger at John, reading his mind.

"Now don't get angry Johnny. There is still one more person you can save! And promise I'll play fair in this last round. Well-"

He let out a wicked cackle.

"As fair as these games ever are. But this one is rather obvious. I will be quite disappointed if you don't figure this one out in time."

He leaned closer to the camera, his face cold.

"But no riddle this time. That would be make it too easy. Only one tiny clue."

He smiled again, his eyes still cold.

"The first was from your present, the second was from your past and this last one is from your...future."

Moriarty shrugged and leaned back in his chair.

"That's it. That's all you get. Oh and I'll give you 18 hours for this one. And don't worry, the time starts now. You couldn't very well cut up her body in the hospital cafeteria!"

He laughed once again, still smiling.

"Say what you will about me Sherly, but I'm not completely heartless."

And the video cut out, only a blank screen remaining. Somehow, though Moriarty's smiling face was seared in John's memory. He hated him. Hated this. How was he suppose to figure this out? It was impossible. And then he would have another person's blood on his hands. John was beginning to feel hopelessness take over when he felt Sherlock's long fingers intertwine with his. John looked up at him. His face was long, but he was forcing a smile.

"Well, we better get to work, Dr. Watson."


	13. Ready

Once they got back to 221B, Sherlock immediately grabbed his laptop and began typing frantically. John sighed and set next to him on the couch. He was utterly exhausted, all the stress of Moriarty's threat piling on top of him. It seemed strange that just a few hours ago, he was laying in Sherlock's arms, more content than he had been in his whole life. In a way, though, that is how it always was with Sherlock. You take the bad with the good. And John gladly took that deal. But it didn't make the weight any lighter in the moment.

John turned to see Sherlock staring out the window, his eyes closed, frowning. John sighed and leaned back into the couch.

"So what's the plan?"

Sherlock's eyes opened, but his brow remained furrowed.

"I honestly don't know. The clue was so ambiguous it could mean anything. If this is a person from your future, does that mean you haven't met them yet? That leaves us with no one. Or does it simply mean they are going to be a part of your future? That leaves us with everyone!"

Sherlock's body tensed up and he looked like he was about to scream in frustration. John tensed as well. If Sherlock didn't know what do to, there truly was no hope. But instead Sherlock took a deep breath and turned back to John. John relaxed a little.

"Our only real option here is to try and find Moriarty's base of operations. I mean how does he seem to know what is going on? Does he have someone watching us? No, that would be too simple. I would have noticed if someone was continually following us...Oh!"

Sherlock clapped his hands together and his eyes widened. John couldn't help but smile. He loved watching Sherlock put the all the pieces of a puzzle into place. It was like he was actually watching his brain at work. Even after all these years, John still had to stop himself from saying "amazing" after ever deduction.

Sherlock smiled brightly at John, obviously pleased with himself.

"Of course! He has a network! A group of specific people working for him. It's so obvious! But-"

His face fell and beginning typing on his computer. John waited for Sherlock to continue, but he didn't. John shook his head.

"What, Sherlock? Don't shut me out now."

Sherlock stopped for a second, his eyes flashing toward John before he began typing again.

"Sorry, but it is going to take me hours to go through all the possible networks and narrow it down. I have to start now."

John frowned.

"Well what should I do?"

Sherlock's eyes remained glued to the screen.

"Some tea would be nice."

John let out a sigh of frustration and headed into the kitchen. He felt so useless in situations like this. He needed to be doing something. He scoffed as he turned the kettle on. Well, making Sherlock Holmes tea was doing something, but it made him feel even more useless.

Sherlock didn't move from that position for the next few hours. John tried to be helpful, but whenever Sherlock asked him a question, it was usually something like "Can you hand me my phone, John?" or "Can you scratch my nose, John?"

John tried to stay positive, but the longer Sherlock set at the computer, the more worried he became. What if he couldn't figure it out? What if they didn't find Moriarty and someone else died because they failed? John didn't know if he could live with that.

He let a short yawn and Sherlock immediately whipped his head toward John, pausing his typing.

"Go to bed, John. You're tired."

John shook his head and set up on the couch.

"No. I'm not going to leave you up by yourself."

Sherlock shrugged.

"I'll be fine. I am not sleeping anytime soon."

John studied Sherlock for a second. He didn't look great. His eyes were bloodshot and his leg keep twitching. Then it dawned on him-

"You're going through withdraw, aren't you?"

Sherlock stiffened and turned back to the computer screen.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about."

John rubbed his temple, trying to stay calm.

"Sherlock, don't lie to me. It is written all over you. You need rest."

Sherlock shook his head, still not meeting John's eye.

"There's no time. I have to keep working."

John grabbed Sherlock's face and turned it to him.

"You. Need. Rest. You are not getting any work done like this. A few hours of sleep won't kill you."

Sherlock ripped his head out of John's hands and began typing again.

John racked his brain for ideas. Sherlock was as stubborn as a mule, but he wasn't giving up so easily.

Suddenly, John stood up and wrenched the laptop from Sherlock's hands and placed in the table behind him. Sherlock looked up at him in surprise and anger.

"Give it back John!"

John stood up as tall as he could.

"No. Not until you get some rest."

Sherlock threw his hands up in the air.

"This is ridiculous! I am not a child, John."

John smirked. He knew how to play this game.

"No, but you are my boyfriend. And I am demanding you come to bed."

At first, Sherlock looked shocked by John's proclamation of their relationship. But then he slowly smiled as he stood up to face John.

"Are you going to..."

Sherlock paused for effect, biting his lower lip.

"Make me?"

John smiled wide, grabbing Sherlock by the shirt to bring him closer.

"If I have to."

Then, without any more hesitation, he dragged Sherlock into the bedroom, smirking. After all these years, John had finally found a way to get this stubborn, impossible man to sleep. And after he had fucked Sherlock mercilessly into the mattress, both of them screaming declarations of love and need, John and Sherlock got the best sleep of their lives. As he drifted off, intertwined in Sherlock's arms, John couldn't help but smile at the irony. Midst all the chaos and stress, he somehow was falling asleep next to the snoring form of a man who never slept. But that was life with Sherlock; always unpredictable and always a challenge. And John wouldn't trade any of it for the world.

X

John awoke the next morning to a text message from Mary. He yawned and picked up the phone.

Can we meet early? Noon?

John sighed and felt his stomach clench. He had almost forgotten he was planning to talk to Mary today. It was not a conversation he was looking forward to, but the sooner, the better. He refused to live a lie any longer. It would just hurt her more.

Just as he was about to text Mary back, he caught sight of the time. He jumped out of bed and began shaking Sherlock.

"Sherlock! You've got to get up."

Sherlock slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"What is it John?"

John pulled his shirt over his head, trying to get dressed as quickly as possible.

"It's already 11:30!"

Sherlock jumped out of bed as well, pulling his robe on.

"Why didn't you wake me John?! I am wasting valuable time!"

John huffed as they rushed out if the bedroom, him to grab his jacket and Sherlock to his laptop.

"I just woke up myself! And besides, we still have 6 hours."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but paused as he saw John walking to the door.

"Where are you going?"

John turned back to him, placing his phone and keys in his pocket.

"Mary wants to meet early so I am heading over there now."

Sherlock frowned.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

John shook his head. He had to do this on his own.

"No, I think it's better if I go by myself."

Sherlock nodded, but he looked worried. John sighed softly at Sherlock's long face. Despite everything, he still needed reassurance. So John, now smiling, walked over to him, placing a soft kiss on his lips.

"Everything is going to be okay. Just work and I will be back soon."

Sherlock nodded again, looking a little bit more comfortable. John softly brushed his finger against Sherlock's cheek before turning and walking toward the door. As he opened it, he heard Sherlock's voice behind him.

"I love you, John."

John looked back at him, the man he would sacrifice anything for, the man he couldn't live without, before leaving. He smiled softly. He was ready to be happy.

"I love you too Sherlock."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this one! Getting close to the end so prepare yourselves! As always, comments/kudos are greatly appreciated. :)


	14. Answers

As John stepped out of the cab and in front of his now former house, he paused, staring at the door. He felt his stomach sink. It wasn't that he was questioning his decision. Far from it. He wanted to be with Sherlock, of that he had no doubt. The problem was he truly had no idea how Mary was going to react. He hoped she would be understanding and still let him be involved in his child's life. But he knew, at the very least, things would never be the easy for them going forward.

There was also the issue of what exactly he was going to say to her. How was he supposed to explain everything? Explain that he had been in love with Sherlock all along, a fact that he had denied, even to himself, until now. And that despite forgiving her and still caring for her, he knew he could never fully trust her again. But he was afraid, even if he could somehow explain it, all she would hear was "sorry but even though I married you and got you pregnant, I'm leaving you for my sociopath best friend". He shook his head, trying to remove any worry from his mind. He had to take that risk. It wasn't fair to her or him to live in this lie anymore.

John took a deep breath and opened the door. He slowly walked into the living room, but there was no one there. That's odd. She was expecting him.

"Mary?"

There was no answer. He frowned. Maybe she was in the kitchen and couldn't hear him. But when he reached the kitchen, he saw no sign of her. Only a pot of water, boiling over on the stove.

John ran over, turning off the gas and removing the pot from the stove, almost burning his hand. Now that was odd. Why would Mary leave a pot of boiling water unattended?...

As John stepped back, he suddenly realized how quiet the house was. Too quiet. His body tensed. Something was wrong. He could feel it.

He rushed into the master bedroom, searching every corner for any sign of Mary, calling her name. He did the same in both the bathroom and spare room. But as he reached the last room, he froze and suddenly it hit him like a ton of brick. Everything made sense. Where Mary was. Who Moriarty was after.

No. Not this. Please God not this. Anything but this. His mind was racing, his body shaking as he reached for the doorknob, praying he is wrong. But he knew he wasn't. Moriarty was right. It was so obvious.

As John leaned against the door frame, trying to steady himself, he pushed the door open slowly. Before him was a small purple room. The walls were covered with various colorful paintings and in the corner was a rocking chair, a small yellow blanket laid across it. Then in the center of the room was a freshly painted white crib with the small flowers drawn around the edges. And taped to the bars, on bright pink paper, were the words that would forever change John Watson's life.

_Ready for the real game to begin, Daddy?_

John let a hoarse sob, unable to hold it in any longer. He felt himself fall the floor, tears now running down his cheeks. He had failed. He had lost.

But as he looked up at those words once more, those cruel, horrible words, he felt anger coarse through his veins. No. No it wasn't over. He couldn't give up. He could still save them. He just needed...

Sherlock.

He reached into his pocket, quickly dialing the number and pressing the phone against his ear. Please Sherlock. Please pick up.

"Hello? John?"

Oh thank God. John forced himself to take deep breathes, trying to prevent the oncoming panic attack.

"Sherlock, I need you to come over here right away. And call Lestrade."

Sherlock's voice was suddenly raw and worried.

"Why? What's wrong?"

John heard his own voice breaking as his spoke.

"It's Mary, Sherlock. Moriarty. He took her. He's after-"

He let out a dry sob, unable to control it.

"The baby."

Sherlock was silent for a few seconds, John assumed out of shock. But when he spoke his voice was soft and steady. John appreciated that.

"I'll be there in 10 minutes."

X

Somehow, Sherlock made to the house in under ten minutes, despite it being across town. Maybe it was because the traffic wasn't terrible. Maybe it was because the cabbie actually listened when he asked him to drive like his life depended on it. Or maybe it was simply because Sherlock would have utterly refused to make it in less time. Not when John needed him.

Whatever the reason, Sherlock was glad that he made it before the police arrived. Not only did he want to examine the crime scene before they contaminated it, but he also wanted to be the first face John saw to be his, not some random policeman. He deduced that it would have some comforting effect.

When John answered the door, Sherlock immediately knew he was correct in his deduction. He saw relief wash over John's face the moment he saw Sherlock. He then forced a weak smile. Sherlock returned it.

For a second, they stood in silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on both their shoulders. Sherlock could tell John was close to the tears he was so desperately trying to prevent. If it was anyone else, Sherlock would ignore this and go about focusing on the task at hand, not caring about their feelings. But this wasn't anyone. This was John. So instead, Sherlock reached out and wrapped his arms tightly around him.

John clung to him, his face buried in Sherlock's chest, his sobs now echoing through the empty house. Sherlock stood there, holding him as he cried, laying kisses on his head and whispering comforts in his ear. In that rare moment, his mind was not wondering, solving other puzzles or exploring an untapped subject. Everything, every ounce of his being was focused on John. He may not have processed feelings like a normal person, but Sherlock knew that, in this moment, John needed every bit of love he could give him.

Sherlock didn't let go until John's sobs had stopped and he released his grip on Sherlock. When John looked up at him, his eyes were no longer sad. They were now full of anger and his voice trembled with it as he spoke.

"I am going to kill him."

Sherlock nodded and let out a deep sigh.

"I know."

The police arrived about thirty minutes later. Sherlock had already searched the house three times over, examined the note, looking for any clues to where Moriarty might be. He found nothing. He kept searching for another hour still to no avail. Finally, frustrated, he decided to let the police get on with their work.

He found John sitting in living room a half-empty glass of whiskey next to him. When John looked up at him, Sherlock saw his face fall. Sherlock tensed. Was his failure and doubt really that obvious? John stood to face him.

"Nothing?"

Sherlock shook his head, refusing to meet John's eyes. He hated disappointing him.

"Not yet. Moriarty left only things he wanted us to find. But the police are still searching. Maybe-"

John scoffed.

"If you haven't found anything, they certainly as hell won't."

Sherlock finally meet John's eyes. He looked so angry, so lost.

"I'm sorry John..."

But suddenly the anger vanished from John's face and Sherlock felt John's fingers interlock with his.

"No Sherlock it's not your fault. We can't give up. We still have time to find them."

Sherlock nodded, even if he didn't fully believe it. John forced a smile and let a short chuckle. He was deflecting and Sherlock gladly let him.

"So you never told me how you got here so fast? What, did you fly?"

Sherlock smirked.

"No I just told the cabbie that he better drive like his life-"

He stopped, an idea hitting him so hard it nearly knocked him off his feet. His mind raced, putting all the pieces together. Then it all became so clear. So obviously clear.

"Sherlock, what it is?"

Sherlock looked down at John and let out a genuine smile, grasping his hand tight as began to drag him toward the door.

"I think it's time we called a cab, John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some questions have been answered and I promise more answers to come. Next chapter is the last and then an epilogue. Thanks so much for reading guys! And as always please leave kudos/comments! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Biscuits and tea to all that leave a comments/kudos!


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